Updated: Mar 16, 2020
This day my heart is heavy, yes, with the weight-of-the-world sort of trouble caused by a small smart virus, but more significantly with Job-like heart-wrenching trials falling on a little family in my clan. I tried writing a defense of God against the “why them?” and “how could a loving God allow this?” sorts of questions.
That didn’t go so well. God is better left undefended. So, I began again.
What I can do on this day, what any of us can do on a day demanding answers for unanswerable questions, is to respectfully hold our unknowing. To a rational mind that is a cop-out. Sure it is. But to a heart attuned to mystery, holding our unknowing is a gift of release to a God one believes is, by definition, Love.
Maybe that helps us hold our pain and the pain of others in dark days. Maybe we all need holding more than words—presence more than questions or answers.
To that end, on this day in the middle of Lent, as the world wrestles a virus that has shaken our sense of control and put life in perspective, as our families and friends encounter expected and unexpected grief (sometimes grief upon grief), I offer a few strung together words in an attempt to welcome unknowing.
collective hope just flew overhead— squawking joy heading southward unmindful of heaviness below
“light as a feather”
indeed. i sigh.
collective hope on the move honking gray heavy-bodied lightness.
it’s the beautiful (though not perfect) V that draws my face upward
what do geese know of pain, of God?
their feathery breeze
We have places to go they sing, lives to live.
their shadow passes (my burden stays)
I remember One named Love
called us into being and holds them. us. all.